


Takes time

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [86]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Series: DS Extras [86]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Kudos: 22





	Takes time

It was by accident, really, that he had stumbled upon Maxwell. That hadn't been what he was trying to do; the alchemy machine needed a few repairs, a bit of an upgrade from the water damage that the last spring rain had caused, and Wilson had been heading in the direction of one of the quarry canyons, the one with little to no spiders inhabiting it and only greasy scrappy buzzards.

There was a forest that fringed it, not quite as big as some of the Southeastern most woods, but it was fairly empty of hostile life. Just a semi safe forest, with the odd totally normal tree and evil flowers sprinkled about here and there. A mile or two coming from the North and he'd hit the steep canyon drop off and have to find the even steeper way down to get to the more gold rich veins below. 

Unlike the meteor fields, there were no mass flocks of tallbirds either; compared to many of the other biomes out on the Constants many planes of existence, these few miles of land seemed almost normal. The hike was always fairly calm too, lacking the usual random roads and animal paths he and the others ended up using, and Wilson had amused himself by whistling along to some forgotten tune in his head as he walked.

Things have been going well.

It was almost odd, and still the nightmares would come creeping in and the darkness of night had him questioning just how long they had before it all fell apart again, like it always did, but in all fairness things really _were_ going good.

Sometimes, in the evenings where everyone was back at camp and supper was almost ready and everyone was talking, sitting around and relaxing in each other's company, Wilson could almost swear that everything was going to be okay, no matter what the Constant may end up throwing at them.

Hell, even _Maxwell_ was being somewhat cordial, which was saying something with how big camp was right now. Too many people and the old former King would start getting more nervous and paranoid. Even his extensive focus into using the Shadow Manipulator as of late hasn't seemed to make him any grouchier or grumpier than the tolerable usual.

Wilson certainly didn't expect to run into him out here, that was for sure. There were evil flowers and their guardian trees in these woods, yes, but at this point there were easier ways at getting living logs and nightmare fuel; Maxwell had no reason to be in these parts.

Wilson almost ended up calling out to him, get his attention, but something...stopped him. Whether it was the appearance of one of those shadow doppelgangers or not wasn't really at the forefront of his mind; Wilson stopped behind the tree he had nearly passed to get into the open, instead staying put and quiet as he realized what he was seeing.

There was only one shadow clone, and Maxwell was certainly not having it cut trees or forage around for anything, but it still stopped him from interrupting.

The old former Nightmare King was _dancing_ with his own shadow.

It was an odd sight, Wilson thought as he poked his head around the tree. There was no music, or any hearable pattern at all to follow; whatever dictated the old man's movements seemed to be only audible to him. He moved slow, a bit stiffly, and the shadow moved along with him, its taloned hands clasped with his and other at his shoulder, his other lightly held along its waist, and Wilson stood there silently, just watching.

Maxwell's eyes were closed too, which was probably why he hadn't caught sight of Wilson immediately. The dance itself seemed simple, a few steps and slow swaying to whatever tune the old man was following, and it was…

...it was a quiet scene.

Wilson didn't know why he watched, almost entranced by each step; Maxwell has been getting a bit stiff and achy as of late, and it showed now, but he still moved with that hint of elegance, the faintest trace of smoothness that he's seemed to have lost after being on the Throne.

It threw Wilson off a bit, the slightest hint of foul memory trying to poke and pry into his conscious, but as he leaned against the tree, still making an attempt at not being so easily seen, it was far easier to look at the old man's face and not see even a trace of the shadow that had once been the Nightmare King.

The longer they lived on these planes of existence, the softer Maxwell seemed to get. With those pitch black, dark shadowy eyes closed he looked fairly normal, tall and frail and face drawn with soft wrinkles, crows feet that made his once sharper, harsher face lighten up ever so slightly. 

Wilson knew it hasn't changed much of him, physically or mentally; Maxwell was still bitter in his words, still made foul remarks or biting snaps to the others, and he was still stick thin and bony and sharp, prickly in almost all senses.

But, the former Nightmare King was different nowadays, somehow. Wilson couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something had changed.

Whatever it was, he was still undecided on if it was a good thing or not.

The quiet ambience of the forest, the shallow, sunlit clearing of low grasses and weeds Maxwell and his shadow danced in, it left a feeling into the air that gave Wilson the sense that he was intruding.

It was very sudden, this feeling, especially when the old man leaned his head silently against the doppelganger's shoulder, a visible heaved sigh and slowing in the steps.

If Wilson really listened, really tried, he felt for a moment that he'd be able to hear whatever it was that Maxwell was listening to.

He slipped back behind the tree, took a moment to collect himself, and he knew the area well enough to figure a route well around this spot, get back to his goal of mining more gold out from the Constants earth.

It still took Wilson a few more minutes, listening to the quiet bird calls and the whispers of the trees, the shifting of leaves and branches in a breeze, the even, steady hesitant shuffles of worn shoes and silent shadow in a small, private dance with the self.

And then Wilson rolled his shoulders, adjusted the pack on his back, and went on his way.


End file.
